


HEAT

by slendersmut



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Absorption, Blood, Bone-breaking, Choking, Inhuman Genitalia, Just General Sexiness, M/M, Monster sex, Pain, Vaginal Sex, Violence, dub con, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slendersmut/pseuds/slendersmut
Summary: Vinny’s relationship with HABIT is one fraught with complications and fear. When HABIT staggers back to their shared apartment looking close to death, Vinny is faced with a terrifying opportunity.





	HEAT

It never took much for HABIT to drive Vinny wild, especially not when that unbearable need to scald the creature in some way, show him the true force of his rage, came rearing its ugly head.

Thinking about the way he acted afterwards left Vinny ashamed, and nauseous. Covered in the shared fluids of their furious ‘hate-making’ (as HABIT quipped once when Vinny had him against the wall, with eyelashes fluttering over demonic, laughing eyes) there was no questioning the nature of their copulation. It existed as a fast, disgusting act, sweat-greased and blood-compounded, a fruitless effort to drive the yawning grin right off the face of the monster and have him puke it off with the force of his cum. And that image stuck with Vinny, too; HABIT always came with hellish force, with Evan’s knife-hardened hands entrenching bruises on Vinny’s shoulders, teeth dragging open skeins of skin on his neck, shouting hard while he rocked the mortal body through the second most terrifying experience a human could have: the little death. HABIT liked to remind Vinny of that too: those few seconds of mind-blowing pleasure were so close to what it felt like to die. 

Vinny always told him he knew how death felt, and that he’s wrong.

The nearness of that body at all hours of the day, so familiar and yet so foreign, produced in Vinny a sickening trauma response the few times that HABIT let Evan take the reins for whatever horrific reason he gave that day. Vinny thought he let it happen to feel how Evan reacted to Vinny’s twitches. He saw in those eyes puffed up with tears and ringed by exhaustion-dark circles his own terrified reflection.

These days, Vincent Everyman tries his very best to hold on to his name the best he can. The surname ‘Everyman’ seems little more than a sick, shuddering joke now, considering how well his pet project of the same name turned out. But he clings to it like an old teddy bear, finding comfort in its reminder of who he is: an every man. An everyday guy who still does the same things every day. A human being who, no matter how many people he has seen ruthlessly murdered right before his eyes, still brushes his teeth close to ten PM and tries to turn in for eleven.

The ‘Vincent’ is a little harder to hold on to, particularly with the hell beast skulking around in his best friend’s skull absolutely fixated on calling him ‘Vinny’. Vinny has been a Vinny for many years, especially to Evan and Jeff, but with HABIT, the shortened form of his name punctuates sentences as liberally as commas. It has come to the point that now, when a ‘Vinny~’ comes dripping from that serpentine mouth, every single hair on Vinny’s body stands on end, regardless of whether it is said in a jovial, matey kind of way, or if its forced out through teeth like tombstones. 

Today, Vincent Everyman is determinedly trying to live up to his namesake, by doing nothing but sitting on the couch watching some mindless documentary. He’s been sitting there for a good forty five minutes but cannot for the life of him focus on what the documentary is about. The pale wall behind the television is more interesting, he finds. It distracts him more from the horror circling inside his head.

At first, Vinny thinks that it’s just the television; from the sounds that register somewhat, it could be a documentary on big cats. He doesn’t bother to move his eyes.

But after a minute or so, the noise becomes louder: a steady, haggard breathing, catching like loose fabric and tearing with every breath.

Vinny blinks and looks around. He is startled to see HABIT crouched low in the doorframe, one white-knuckled hand clenching the doorjamb. His hair conceals his face, and his whole body looks tense.

“Um...” Vinny says, not sure what to do. Should he move? Moving is never a good option when it comes to HABIT, unless there’s a knife to his throat and he’s being urged to do so. He decides to stay sitting, trying not to let panic tighten around his lungs. 

When HABIT doesn’t move, Vinny carefully switches off the television. In the ensuing silence, HABIT’s sounds are far more pronounced. He’s breathing like he’s just been stabbed.

“HABIT?” Vinny asks. He feels ill with the combination of worry and hope that pours into him at the idea that HABIT may be hurt. What would it mean for Evan if HABIT were to die?

That train of thought is stopped in its tracks, however,when HABIT drags himself to his feet and staggers over to Vinny. He falters next to the couch, legs buckling. Vinny jumps up and grabs out on reflex, and he catches HABIT under the arms just before he hits the floor. He stumbles and falls back onto the couch, HABIT collapsing with him. HABIT falls squarely with his legs either side of one of Vinny’s knees, and his head makes a soft noise as it hits the couch just shy of where Vinny’s own rests. 

The ensuing position is awkward, but Vinny keeps his composure and sits up as best he can, buckling his arms around HABIT and hoisting him up into a sort of sitting position. HABIT’s body slumps, head hanging over Vinny’s shoulder.

“HABIT, can you hear me?” Vinny gives Evan’s body a shake, but the moment he tries, HABIT crumples. Panic crowds in on Vinny and he thinks too many things at once. Should he give him CPR? Call an ambulance? His eyes dart wildly about the room. He could try to break through the front door, or smash a window, and make a run for it. He could run to a neighbour’s house, or sprint all the way to the police station, or somewhere else public and crowded and beg for help. This could be his one chance.

Several terrible moments pass in which Vinny believes Evan is finally dead, and that the nightmare is all over for him. Vinny feels like he’s going to retch, and his body shudders with unshed tears. He cradles Evan’s body. A dark calm washes over him: part fear, part grief, and part intense relief.

Vinny isn’t prepared when he is thrown violently down against the sofa, with nails digging straight through the fabric of his shirt deep enough into his shoulders to tear. Vinny gasps and pushes back on reflex, but one clawed hand is ripped from his shirt and grips tight around his neck.

“HABIT- stop,” Vinny chokes, heat rushing to his head and blurring his vision far too quickly.

HABIT’s fingers tighten around Vinny’s throat and drive him further back into the leather of the couch. He’s moved off Vinny’s knee to straddle his waist, and beneath him Vinny’s legs kick helplessly. Vinny pushes back against HABIT’s chest and shoves at his shoulders. HABIT’s grip cuts even deeper into Vinny’s neck, and the only sounds throughout the entire house are Vinny’s stifled gasps, and HABIT’s animal breathing. 

“QUIET,” says HABIT.

Vinny strops struggling. HABIT’s fingers loosen, and Vinny manages to drag in a few precious seconds of oxygen. 

“THERE’S A GOOD BITCH.” HABIT’S fingers clench around Vinny’s neck again, this time going at it with both hands. Vinny lets loose a half-shout, some instinctual part trying to call out for help, but beneath the surface panic there is nothing but resignation. HABIT is going to kill him, right here. He always said he wouldn’t get a fun death, and now he’s going to be strangled.

Vinny gazes up at HABIT as he chokes, vision whiting out, trying to see the eyes beneath Evan’s hair. HABIT makes a frustrated noise and hits out at Vinny’s neck, deepening his chokehold. Vinny grabs HABIT and tries to pull him back by the shirt, only succeeding in dragging his nails down HABIT’s back. Vinny can feel his oxygen running thin, and his lungs buckling under the strain – he isn’t going to last much longer.

Summoning up every last ounce of strength he has, Vinny punches out at HABIT’s abdomen, aiming straight for where he hopes there is a kidney. HABIT folds over for just a moment – long enough for Vinny to shove HABIT by the shoulders and then kick out with one of his freed legs, sending HABIT toppling to the floor. He lands with an almighty crash and skids backwards on the wood, but only for a moment, before the monster springs back to his feet again and tenses his entire body like before, a living embodiment of rage.

Vinny wants to run but he cannot bring himself to do so – his eyes are interlocked with HABIT’s. What he sees there is incredible. Those eyes that he once knew as his dear friend’s burn with the most livid, pulsating purple Vinny has ever seen. Vinny wants to scream, but nothing comes out of his wounded windpipe bar a few terrified whimpers.

With agonising slowness, HABIT moves his body up to his full height and takes a step forward, and then another, until his shadow completely obscures Vinny. Vinny shrinks back, horrified by the sheer amount of teeth shown in HABIT’s snarl.

“VINNY.” HABIT’s double-toned voice drips black at the edges, a sound so deep and unnatural it curls around Vinny’s throat and chokes him all over again. “YOU THINK YOU CAN FIGHT ME?” He laughs, and a shiver thrills its way up Vinny’s spine. “I COULD SHATTER YOUR LITTLE BODY WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT.”

Vinny’s heart stops. 

HABIT grins. “AND I KIND OF WANT TO.”

This time, HABIT is slow in crawling on top of Vinny, straddling him and placing his arms either side of Vinny’s head. Vinny sucks in a breath as he takes in the full view of HABIT; the creature is panting and open-mouthed, with slight lips drawn apart in a breathless showcase of brilliant white teeth. The one eye not obscured by hair stays fixated dreadfully on Vinny, its impossible purple iris casting a soft glow against Evan’s flushed flesh. Vinny is disgusted with himself for feeling it, but he can’t deny his stomach heating with the first coils of arousal.

“STAY STILL,” HABIT growls, and he grabs both of Vinny’s wrists and slams them up above his head. 

Vinny doesn’t struggle, knowing better by now than to fight against anything HABIT does. It’s with as placid an expression he can maintain that Vinny watches HABIT drag his tongue across his teeth – a tongue far too long and pointed and purple to possibly belong to Evan. He flinches when HABIT releases one wrist and pins both wrists with just one arm, but bites his lip, saying nothing when the other hand grips his shirt and yanks it apart, sending buttons flying.

The attack could not have been predicted, and Vinny shrieks when HABIT attacks his neck, savaging the skin above his collarbone. An awful groan is torn from Vinny when HABIT’s teeth sink deep into the skin, eliciting a responding sound of approval from HABIT. Blood is drawn in seconds and HABIT sucks, sending spikes of pain shooting through Vinny’s neck. In his panic, Vinny thrashes upwards and tries to dislodge HABIT’s grip from his hands, but only succeeds in provoking HABIT further, making him cut deep bruises into Vinny’s sensitive wrist flesh.

“YOU’RE GOING TO DO EXACTLY WHAT I TELL YOU,” says HABIT into Vinny’s neck. Vinny can’t help the shiver, eyes fluttering shut, just feeling the ghost of HABIT’s teeth against his throat. HABIT could do anything he wanted, he knew – he really could just tear out his throat right there. Horribly, this knowledge now is sending heat rushing to places it shouldn’t be. This wasn’t the first time either, and he feels HABIT grin against him in awful understanding.

Abruptly, HABIT dislodges himself and pushes away Vinny’s arms. Vinny keeps his arms in the air while matching the stare HABIT, whose glowering form is looming over him like a petrifying shadow. 

“I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME.”

Half-words and unformed thoughts stutter from Vinny’s mouth. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck and the collection of blood in his wounds. For a few lucid seconds, Vinny considers exactly how he could get out of this situation, but just a single glance at HABIT’s red face and feral-drawn lips tells him trying would be useless. Still, when he tries to move himself to where HABIT wants him to be, his hands falter. No matter how terrifying HABIT may be, he’s still using the body of his best friend. This wasn’t the first time - but no matter how often they fucked, it was still a violation.

HABIT makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat when Vinny doesn’t move. He seizes hold Vinny’s hand, brings it to his crotch and grinds against the friction. “DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?” says HABIT, through his teeth. “FUCK ME, WHORE.” 

Vinny’s fingers fumble with HABIT’s buttons, trying to undo them one-handed. This situation was different. Until now, HABIT always did the fucking, and Vinny always got fucked from behind. That’s how HABIT liked it, and Vinny never complained. He’d never seen what HABIT - or Evan - packed under their jeans, and he didn’t feel like he’d been fucked by anything other than a cock. But now, whatever is under those clothes is definitely not human – there’s something warm and thick squirming beneath the fabric. HABIT grunts and shifts to grind himself further into Vinny’s hand. 

His curiosity needs satiation just as much as he needs to live. When the full impact of what HABIT wants him to do finally hits, Vinny dislodges the final button and thrusts his hand inside. Immediately his hand is assaulted by warmth; he refuses to look as he seizes hold of the thinly-fabric-clad mass and grips hard.

HABIT makes a noise Vinny has never heard him make before: a choked off gasp. Vinny looks, and is shocked to see HABIT’s eyes shut and his mouth open. Vinny hesitates, then twitches his fingers around the mass. HABIT’s reaction is gorgeous: he utters a low noise of deep, penetrative pleasure. Completely entranced, Vinny gives an experimental push onto the mass, letting his fingers fold their way over the writhing intricacies present beneath HABIT’s boxers. A light press here and a slightly harder push elsewhere, and HABIT is grinding up, his teeth bared in a grimace. 

Then it hits him. He, Vinny, has the upper hand.

Something wild seizes him, and Vinny shifts his hand so his knuckles are pressing down against HABIT, kneading against whatever hellish cluster now resided between Evan’s thighs. 

“NGH-!” The moan comes unbidden, harsh and broken. HABIT’s hands grasp at Vinny’s arms, but with some delight Vinny notices their usual killer grip is diminished – the hold feels almost like average human strength. HABIT’s eyes open, but their murderous gleam is shrouded in the hazy purple glow.

“You like that?” Vinny’s voice is quiet, but enough for HABIT to hear. To emphasise his words, Vinny takes the plunge and slips his hand beneath HABIT’s boxers, taking hold of the first thing he feels. The double tone of HABIT’s voice stutters and breaks, a noise of high arousal escaping into the room and settling between them like heated fog. 

“V-VINNY-“ HABIT’s voice revs on the consonant as Vinny manoeuvres his fingers around inside, gently stroking and teasing where he can find. The texture is rough, almost scaly, and each tendril-like appendage that brushes past his fingers feels thin and impossibly dextrous.

When Vinny’s fingers brush something warm and wet, HABIT curls in on himself, fingers curving into Vinny’s skin and his whole body trying to bend into Vinny’s touch. A few seconds of gentle probing upon a softer, more yielding surface and Vinny rubs his fingers together underneath the mass, finding them coated in something sticky. Acting purely on impulse, Vinny moves his hand to brush over the tendrils, coating them in the substance.

HABIT is shaking: honestly trembling, so much so that Vinny can feel his grip sliding down his arms. All kinds of survival instincts are blaring in Vinny’s head, but his mind prevails. As a result, he uses his unoccupied hand to wrap around HABIT’s waist, pulling him closer and steadying his shuddering thighs. Vinny presses his hand gently into the small of HABIT’s back and is stunned to realise how slight he is – Evan’s body is so tiny, and yet so full of wiry strength. He can barely correlate that with the monstrous thing keeping him hostage for months – the thing currently breathing like he’s inches from a heart attack. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Vinny finds himself saying, and he rubs soothing circles into that spinal dent. He keeps up the ministrations of his other hand, and his fingers become increasingly slick. “Is that good?”

HABIT’s head lolls forwards, long hair covering his reddening face, while his hips make small, almost punching movements towards Vinny’s fingers. Vinny brushes one wet finger along the length of what he guesses is a larger, more defined tendril, and HABIT groans lowly. An outpouring of wetness drips its way down the tendril and glazes Vinny’s fingers.

The monster only has one word for Vinny.

“MORE.”

The scent of arousal in the room is palpable – everything is so close, and heated. Vinny forces himself to meet HABIT’s gaze, but immediately squirms. HABIT’s mouth is open and his lower jaw hangs, jutting out, while his mouth twitches with indecipherable emotion. Vinny can’t hold his gaze and looks away. Vinny knows he’s wet too, but he doesn’t dare remove his hand to focus on himself. He might have HABIT for the moment, but taking his hands away for any reason could be the last thing he ever does.

“More of what?” Vinny asks.

HABIT’s grinding escalates, becoming more erratic. Vinny can’t help but moan softly as his hand is suddenly, violently coated in wetness, all the way up to his wrist. He looks at HABIT again to see HABIT’s eyes pulsing, exactly in time to the pulse Vinny feels with his soaked hand. 

“MORE...YOU.”

The small gasps grow louder as HABIT’s grip on Vinny’s arms deepens. A drop of pure purple beads at the corner of HABIT’s mouth. As he thrusts into Vinny’s fingers, now deeply entangled in the knot of twisting tentacles, the purple drips, spilling violet over his lips, down his chin and splattering onto Vinny’s shirt. With each thrust more of the purple saliva slips from his mouth, dripping onto Vinny’s bare stomach. HABIT’s eyes burn, and Vinny swears that his eyes pulse to the exact rhythm of his thrumming blood, the loudest sound in the room other than their breathing.

It shocks Vinny when HABIT suddenly forces himself down upon one of Vinny’s outstretched fingers – and then HABIT is bent over, almost nose-to-nose with Vinny, his breath hot on his face.

“MORE,” he groans, and with a single powerful thrust he takes Vinny’s finger deep inside the hidden entrance, the one keeping HABIT so slick.

The motion almost breaks Vinny’s hand. He’s forced to push another two fingers into HABIT immediately because a single digit does nothing to fill the pounding flesh. With three fingers HABIT’s arousal grows more desperate, and Vinny wonders if there is any stretch at all, and if it is hurting Evan. The thought scatters when Vinny slides a fourth finger inside, his hand emulating only a semblance of the burn Evan could be feeling, but HABIT takes it whole, and his inhuman whine only intensifies.

Vinny’s arm feels like it’s about to snap, the force of HABIT’s hips is so strong. But with his gaze trapped, watching HABIT’s eyes roll back and his eyelids flicker, Vinny is lost in a whirlwind of thigh-slickening arousal and unholy terror.

Finally, when Vinny’s thumb slides into that oozing wet, ever-widening hole, HABIT purrs, slow and sonorous, a sound that trickles and grates all at once. For a moment, his eyes roll all the way back back, revealing bloodshot whites. Purple soon reclaims its hold, however, and when HABIT eyes lock onto Vinny’s face, they start to drip violet too. Rivulets of lilac streak down his face, and run into his open mouth, staining his teeth. He grins at Vinny, cheeks splattered and pulled achingly wide, as he forces himself down upon Vinny’s fist.

HABIT takes the fist whole, with a low moan.

“Fuck!” Vinny gasps, mortified. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

No answer - not in words. Instead, HABIT licks his lips, though more purple cascades from his mouth. It’s pure nightmare fuel, and Vinny’s wheezes when he tries to dislodge his fist from HABIT, suddenly all too aware of how petrifying the situation is. The move proves futile; HABIT, with plum pouring off his tongue, sucks in Vinny’s hand, all the way up to the wrist. HABIT maintains eye contact as, with two determined thrusts, he forces Vinny inside of him, halfway up the forearm.

“No - how the fuck are you doing that?!”

Vinny’s head is spinning. There’s no way he could be this deep inside without hurting Evan - he’s so much smaller, too fragile, and there’s too much space - what is he touching, inside? Where are the organs? How do his insides keep stretching on and on, and what is this squishing, squeezing fever? Even with his fingers splayed now, pushing against the walls, how is HABIT expanding, accommodating?

HABIT answers the unsaid questions with a voice like a massacre.

“HEAT.”

Then, HABIT’s hand is at the back of his head, pushing down, and Vinny’s arm is enveloped in HABIT all the way up to the elbow. Vinny barely has time to react to the shock before HABIT is riding his arm like a cock, desperately trying to drive it deeper inside. The monster twists and ruts over Vinny’s arm, and Vinny is paralyzed - the angle is too crooked, and he can feel his limb going numb with the compression. Vinny tries to flex his fingers again, but now the walls push in on themselves, clenching and constricting, driving the blood out of his arm. Above him, HABIT is stuttering, his noises glitching in and out between human and abomination. Vinny closes his eyes against the unthinkable scene, but the searing grip of HABIT’s thighs clamped around his waist and the trembling of his arm in that slippery cavern pull him back. It should be revolting, repulsive, it should go against anything anyone could ever find attractive, but holy fuck Vinny wants HABIT to absorb him into his being and shatter him into a thousand pieces.

Without warning, HABIT claws at Vinny’s pants with such ferocity that the waistband snaps. He’s shed in seconds, bearing thick, flushed skin crisscrossed with scars. He should struggle when HABIT shoves him back, and spreads his legs, but he doesn’t, even with his arm squeezed painfully tight in the demon’s valprehensive grip. The harder HABIT clenches, the more engorged the tentacles now thrashing at Vinny’s legs become. The tentacles whip and crack, lashing out and striking his sensitive thigh-flesh, and HABIT’s insides pulse with inhuman pleasure, ingesting Vinny’s arm to feed his ravenous cunt. 

Vinny’s thighs are soaked, and the tentacles waste no time in taking advantage of this. Vinny squeals when four of those squirming tendrils lash out, suddenly much longer and thicker, and wrap themselves around Vinny’s thighs, two to each leg. They squeeze, hard and tight and fast, and the pain punches Vinny, harder than the squeezing of HABIT around his forearm, so hard it’s cutting off circulation. As if sentient, when Vinny cries out and spreads his legs, the tentacles make their attack, invading Vinny with ease. He’s breached in seconds, the thickest tentacle spreading flushed lips and diving deep, delivering like a blow. Vinny doubles over like he’s been sucker punched, feeling the slimy thing wriggling its way into his insides. 

“This- is impossible,” Vinny gasps, voice ragged. “HABIT, it hurts so much, please-”

Their combined groaning and panting makes for the background noise of a snuff film. Vinny gags when HABIT cuts into his throat, crushing the supple flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Those murder-toned arms ripple from the strain. Vinny convulses underneath HABIT, groaning and squirming, trying and failing to pull his arm out. He’s in agony.

“NOT. ENOUGH.” 

With an awful crack, HABIT cums, immediately flooding his insides, and Vinny screams. Pain screeches through his drowning arm as a ruined orgasm tears Vinny apart, streaking to his wrist and shoulder. He jerks, and punches HABIT straight in the stomach, but HABIT only grunts and clenches harder, drawing another cry. Sucked right in to HABIT, his arm enveloped in heat and wet now seizes in pain, and Vinny thinks he might pass out. He manages another, weaker punch, but to the throat, and HABIT cries through a moan devoid of oxygen. Violet liquid splatters onto Vinny’s face, far too much, and he gargles his screech through a violent paroxysm, one that leaves him loose and broken and fucked. 

HABIT collapses on top of Vinny, and the resulting unnatural angle draws a toe-curling howl. It’s not merciful when HABIT’s godlike grip finally relinquishes, and Vinny’s broken arm slides out in a flood of purple fluid. They gasp in the aftermath, ruined in different ways but both ravaged by completion.

The streams from HABIT’s eyes and mouth slow to a trickle, and he pushes his sweat-matted fringe from his face, that familiar cocksure smile fixing itself back in place. Blood throbs in Vinny’s cheeks, in rhythm with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His arm is hanging dead at his side, and the pain is incredible, but those dark eyes are asking for approval, and he feels compelled to provide.

“Thank-thank you,” Vinny stammers. “It - that was good, that was so good, but I need to go to a hospital-” 

HABIT silences Vinny with a finger on his lips. He purrs into Vinny’s ear, using his name, and as always, Vinny’s hair stands on end.

“OH NO, VINNY. WE’RE NOT DONE YET.”


End file.
